The Old and the New (Meridia)

[A m e n r i a]

"So you saying we should walk all the way there, not on our mounts?" Asked a stag rider with a lighter weapon than his comrades. "Sorry, I don't quite get it. I'm not scared though, we're ready for anything. Captain?" He looked at Captain Yudha. "Shall we leave right now?" The Captain asked the rest of his party.

[Camelone]

Being threatened was expected, and indeed was the goal. But when the escort of Margrave Sigismund turned against him, Ælraed was genuinely surprised, and his mind immediately began searching for a solution to this unforeseen event. There was always his...gifts...but he had taken great pains up until this point in his life not to reveal those to anyone. It would never do to have his hand forced by this foreign mob, and he pushed the suggestion away as the lazy thing to do.

"Lands and gold," he said nonchalantly. "Both things the Margrave and I could easily offer in greater quantity. But then, turncoats are usually so quick to hold on to whatever scraps of honour and loyalty they have left, and say they can't be bought. I'm sure you'll next attempt to convince us that you are acting for the betterment of your country. Camelone in danger, and the heathen to be kept busy so as to protect the Chosen People. Whatever you need to say to convince yourselves that you are in the right of this."

As calmly as possible, Ælraed took hold of the Margrave's elbow, and with almost imperceptible force did he begin to draw him backwards, away from the pistols and towards him and Sir Ninian. Never once did he take his eyes off of Sir Galan, and his body language was all peace and compliance. When he had brought the Margrave close enough to himself, and having taken a few steps backwards himself in the direction of Sir Ninian, Ælraed Ballantyne slowly reached into his coat and very slowly removed a cigar, which he showed to Sir Galan and his men, demonstrating that he was no threat whatsoever. He licked the length of the tobacco leaf to wet it, then placed it in the corner of his mouth and reached for a match that sat on his desk. With a quick strike was it lit and brought to touch the cigar, which began to smoke and fill the room with the pleasant odour.

"Tell me," he spoke after a few puffs which truly felt like hours in the tenseness of the room, "Are you familiar with the natural sciences at all, Sir Galan? It has been all the rage in Taledonia these many decades, and our best and brightest over at the Royal Society spend their days observing, cataloguing and tinkering with everything they can find. I have a good friend, a mining magnate, who is himself an eminent ornithologist. And even before the Shadow, may it never reappear, our religious castes knew the ways of plants. This latter knowledge has understandably advanced with all the modern methods of control and observation possible in this day and age, and while I will admit that I often shirked my studies as a lad, I did retain some knowledge of the natural states. Fruits, grains and vegetables are of great importance, as they are often left to rot so that they might make that substance which men so crave. Alcohol, you understand. The market is wild for alcohols of all kinds, and it can only be produced by fermenting various fruits, grains and vegetables.

"But something else happens during the process, which those more wise in the ways of the world have named ethanol. A mostly odourless byproduct, ethanol can be fatal if not controlled, and the poor are known to be poisoned by cheap drink that hosts too much ethanol. It also has another use, however, if one is careful enough in its handling. And indeed, it was of great interest to me. So much so that I ordered the Royal Distillery moved below us, and took this little office above their fermentation chambers. I don't think the brewmasters thought me quite sane when I told them to do it, and to eschew any changes to the palace for proper ventilation. A week, I told them, would not do me any harm. So you see, we are currently standing on a wooden floor, with a build up of ethanol below us, and I ask your pardon for this Margrave!"

In the blink of an eye the cigar was falling towards a small crack in the floor's planking, while Ælraed had once more taken hold of Sigismund and was dragging him physically along as he dove to take cover behind the desk where Sir Ninian was already standing. Ælraed could not be sure if the soldiers had fired their weapons or not, so lost was he in the adrenaline rush, and barely had they slid halfway across the desk than the air below them ignited and heaved against the thick stone walls of the castle, finding nowhere else to burst but up. The sound was tremendous, a thunderclap that shook the entire room, while the jet of flame and smoke that fired up as if Hellfire from beneath consumed the room, blowing out the window panes from their casements and sending the room's door flying across the hall. Those outside, while thrown to their feet and no doubt unable to hear anything but a high-pitched ringing, would be otherwise fine Ballantyne reasoned. Those inside the room, however, he did not know. For his own part, he was stiff, deaf, and choking on the thick plumes of smoke that filled the small space. He could see nothing but obscure shapes through the blackness of the smoke, and up had no meaning to him.

The ethanol had ignited, sending up a flash for flame that would have singed hair and perhaps left some superficial burns, but the main objective had been to create a dense cloud of oily smoke that would fill the room and make escape possible.

An errant breeze from outside brought the broken window to his attention. He was still dumb and disoriented, he felt weak, and he was unsure of how long he had until his lungs failed him in the choked environment. But there was a window, and he felt limbs beside him. Was it the Margrave Sigismund? Sir Ninian? He couldn't be entirely sure, but he summoned all the resolve he had left, rose to his feet, dragged the equally dazed and discombobulated forms to the window, pushed them out head first, then jumped out himself. The fall was no great way, merely 10 feet or so, and with a silent prayer to the Spirits he thanked himself for instructing the castle's grooms to stack the sum of the stable's straw below his window. All three figures landed in a soft, if itchy and scratchy, pile. An alarm bell was tolling, and he could hear the clank of armoured boots running about. Even the discharge of a musket or two, which was curiously calming, as it meant his hearing was beginning to return.

"I really fucking hope that's you and Sir Ninian lying next to me, Margrave."

"Where the hell is Brother Hartmut." Margrave Sigismund yelled out in response as he pushed himself up as Sir Ninian was coughing on the ground rather violently and he could see a sight he was not expecting his own guards fighting and killing each other. "This has become a giant cluster fuck!" Sigismund continued to yell as he rose up and brushed himself off, not caring about the bullet that hit near his feet.

"Oi Sir Galan come down and fight like a knight and not a knave!" Sigismund shouted back up as he returned fire. Thankfully for him his guards were not expecting a big boom and immediately ran for the study, causing the fighting between the conspirators and the loyalists to break out.

"Get up you two we have some damn cleaning to do." The Margrave growled out as he unsheathed his sword and drew another pistol looking for a way to get back to the traitors so he could make a bloody path through them.

[Taledonia]

"They may remain on the journey to the Cloudburst, but I must strongly suggest, in fact insist, that they go no further. Beasts, no matter how noble or faithful, do not have the minds of men, and will not be right in the mountains. There are tales, and whispers: Knights trampled and eaten by their mounts, murders of crows found pecking the eyes out of children who ventured too far from home, and all manner of evil. It can be a place of madness if you aren't careful, and we now know that the Spirits are not in a kindly mood."

Cathbad was grave and serious as he spoke, and he looked them each full in the eye to ensure the words had sunken in.

"But even still," he continued in a lighter mood, reminiscent of his trademark aloofness, "It is my home. I know it well, and I am confident I can lead you safely to the Amber Throne. There your investigation can truly begin, for if Man or Spirit no longer keep the covenant, we will know it there." He licked his thumb and thrust it above his head for a moment. "Come, the wind is fair, and it will ease our journey."

------------------------

With a sigh of relief, Ælraed sank into the straw upon which he lay. The sounds of fighting had grown, the crash of musketry more intense. It was evident that the Margrave's men had engaged with the traitors, and that the palace guard had joined in as well. It would not last long, he reckoned, and so the Margrave's call was not particularly rousing; heroic though it may be. He was impressed by the man's vigour, for he himself felt opressed. He still coughed the smoke from his lungs, and the fall, though cushioned, had still winded him. He was somewhat glad that Sir Ninian hadn't recovered as quickly, else he'd be the odd one out.

"Cleaning," he repeated, more to himself than to Sigismund. "Yes, much cleaning. That's what this whole thing is about, isn't it, Margrave? Our nations are beset by threats, both without and within. Your own men tried to murder you." Rising up, he saw soldiers running into the palace, taking the steps two or three at a time in their haste to secure the situation, all the while smoke continued to billow out of the window above. A noble sight, one that would stick in the minds of the people. Useful.

Life returned to his extremities, and he flung himself awkwardly out of the straw. "This way, Margrave, if you please." He broke into a jog, moving towards the palace steps. The sounds of gunfire grew; surprising, for he had assumed the traitors would have been overwhelmed by now. He called to a passing soldier, taking the man's bayonet as a weapon, and charged on with the Cameloneans. As they approached the study, the situation became clearer. The Cameloneans, both traitor and loyalist, were engaged in a somewhat confusing melee, of which the palace guard could make no sense of. They stood in cover at the wall edges, glancing out at the fray with concern. What if they shot the wrong ones? Would they be punished for starting a war with a foreign power?

"Form up!" Ælraed roared as they arrived on scene. "Line of battle, three ranks!"

The men snapped to attention, the Lord Protector's orders being carried out efficiently.

"Bayonets!"

With precision were they fixed to the muskets.

"Advance!"

Taking an officer's rightful position on the flank, Ballantyne marched steadily forward with his men, bayonets held forward as they advanced upon the Cameloneans.

"Margrave Sigismund," he turned smartly, not breaking step with his soldiers, "I look to you for which men to spare, and which to destroy."

[A m e n r i a]

"Very well then." Captain Yudha replied firmly and nodded to Cathbad. He looked at Kemboja, his tiger, and pat her head, leaning down and talking to her. "I'm sorry, dear, but it's for the best. You'll be okay, I'm sure." She lowered her ears and groaned in sad understanding. The other soldiers also comforted their mounts, and the animals had similar reactions.

[Camelone]

Taking an officer's rightful position on the flank, Ballantyne marched steadily forward with his men, bayonets held forward as they advanced upon the Cameloneans.

"Margrave Sigismund," he turned smartly, not breaking step with his soldiers, "I look to you for which men to spare, and which to destroy."

With a grin Sigismund unsheathed his ancestral sword and lifted it up to the sky "Now you will see what I mean by saints are chosen by God and not men Lord Protector." Closing his eyes he began to pray "Saints who hear my prayers and the prayers of my kin, hear me this day and aid me in the conquest of sin. For treachery is afoot and the innocent must be spared. Show the true nature of mans heart that only God truly knows and expose the traitors. In Christ's name we pray amen!" With that a swirling force of energy emerged from the sword and rushed out marking each and every traitor with a dark red glow easily visible and discernible from the rest. Some of the men who had been fighting against the Margrave's men noticed the change to their appearance and threw down the weapons and surrounded, terrified for the future of their souls due to the display of holy power.

"There you go Lord Protector. Now you know who to kill, and so do I." Sigismund said his eyes narrowing at the sight of Sir Galan, with blade gleaming in the sun the Camelonean noble began to make his way through the fighting, with graceful movements that only came from years of training and experience. Ducking, weaving, and elbowing the Margrave confronted the traitorous knight as the fighting began to die down around them. When the two men clashed there was no grace, it was a savage and quick confrontation, Sigismund lured Galan in with lunge, blocking the incoming counter attack with his gauntlet. Using that force Sigismund brought Firinne down upon Galan's shoulder bone, a slight white glow surrounded the blade as it sliced through the knights chest before ending at the heart. Pulling it out the Margrave looked ferocious with blood spatter covering his face and the look of fury still etched on his features.

[Taledonia]

The Lord Protector replied by chopping down with his arm, unleashing a crash as the muskets of his men went off in almost perfect unison. They had chosen their targets, and while some balls struck noisily off the floor or walls, many found home within the flesh of the illuminated foe, while the closeness of the hall amplified the sound of the discharge, stunning those before them. The call to charge followed with barely a pause, and the palace guard surged forth, bayonets gleaming sinister before them. They lunged and stabbed and clubbed with stocks as the melee was joined.

It was a hideous slaughter. The traitors, so stricken by the magics woven by their former lord, fell quickly to the defenders. The Margrave himself was a monstrous force that would not be sated as he took revenge on the oath-breakers. In truth, the Taledonians merely acted as a solid wall of steel, preventing the enemy from escaping from the vengeful swords and pistols of the Cameloneans. When it was done, the silence of the hallway was eerie compared to the sounds of battle that had just filled it.

"This was a regrettable occurrence," Ballantyne said to Sigismund later, as they sat their horses on a deserted road leading from the Capital. Dusk had painted the sky in colours the envy of any artist, but the summer air was stifling and oppressive, making the fresh memory of the day's events almost unbearable. "I had wished for a much more amicable meeting, but Fate likes to lay waste the plans of men." He turned to look at Lord Galloway, shackled and gagged upon a fine horse being led by one of the Margrave's escort. "But perhaps it was for the better. Our bargain struck and forged in blood. You have my sincere thanks, Lord Sigismund, for accepting this bargain. Treat Galloway with respect, if you'd be so kind, but keep him in Camelone. With the Blessing of Christ, when you return him, the foundation stones of a mighty cathedral shall be laid in Taledon. May God and the Holy Spirit see you safely home!"

He offered his hand, and after a meaningful look, turned his horse and led his escort back to the city.

-------------------------------------

2nd of Arcturus
Deep within the Brackenwood

The ricochets of musket fire took chunks of bark and core from the trees above him. Somewhere to his left, the boom of a cannon could be heard, while the whizz of hundreds of iron balls blasting through the foliage told that it was canister shot. How had they managed to hide cannon, he wondered, and so close to their position? Another blast came from his right: more canister, and the shrieks of men who were torn and shredded by the terrible discharge echoed throughout the tall pines.

A knight galloped at speed towards him, his noble plate armour covered in blood, mud and excrement, while his horse was bleeding profusely from the flank and frothing at the mouth. "My Lord Aidan, our center has broken!"

The Master of Stormhold looked upon the man as if he could not understand him, so the knight repeated himself. "What of Vitalis?" he demanded. The knight dismounted and removed his half-helm. "He has been taken, my Lord. Took a pike to the leg and was surrounded before his guard could recover him. When his colours were hauled down and taken, the men fled."

So that was that. Surprisingly, Aidan did not feel angry; rather, he was impressed. For weeks his scouts had played a game of hide and seek with those of the King's armies, and the main force had seemingly outmaneuvered the Royal force with ease. Now it all became clear. They had been chauffeured right into this valley, seemingly so secure against the mountains and protected on three sides by sheer cliff. The loyalists had been seen far to the south, struggling to haul their modern equipment through the dense scrub. And then, as the sun rose on another day, the trees came alive with men.

Skirmishers had struck them in the rear of their camp. When the army rallied to meet them, suddenly there was a massive assault from an unknown cave to the west; easy enough to repel, surely, as they had to emerge from their hidden cavern into a full line of men-at-arms who could pin them down and pepper them with fire. But then the cannons opened up, sending great balls of iron crashing through the lines of densely packed men. It was an assault from three sides, with a cliff hemming them in from the fourth. More and more royalists had appeared from the trees, evidently having scaled the cliffs to reach the valley floor.

The knightly orders were almost completely useless, their men unable to form and charge in the dense forest. Pikes couldn't remain in formation for fear of the artillery, and the crossbows and musketeers had no protection from the sharpshooters who sniped them from behind logs and rocks. His own men, stationed on the left flank, the position that had responded to the initial threat, was barely holding its ground. His personal levy, expert bowmen who were so deadly on the high parapets of Stormhold, were forced behind barricades of felled trees, while his huscarls, valiant in their chainmail and wearing the colours of his House proudly on their bodies, crouched impotently behind whatever cover they could find, unable to close enough to the withering fire of the skirmishers before them.

"How fares your Order, Sir?" he asked the knight.

"Our Brotherhood will fight to the last, my Lord," he said with a bow of respect.

This, more than the inevitable defeat, brought anger to Aidan's voice. "I said how do they fare, not whether they will die with honour!"

"They hold the right, my Lord," the man replied warily, "You would have them pull back?"

"With all speed. I will pull my forces back, and we must gather all our remaining strength. Mount up, and charge as best you can at their left flank. If we cannot break through to the south and retreat, then we will surely be taken, and end our lives as fixtures on the battlements of Taledon. Go, man! Gather up your brothers!"

It was crude, and had very little chance of success. Even were they to break out, the casualties would be disastrous. But it would mean the Rebellion lived, and could continue to fight. That was the only thing that would turn this day into anything but a complete defeat. If he could break free, even with a small force, then perhaps he could make a play on the Capital to free Galloway. With the armies of Stone Bridge at his side, he could still mount an effective resistance to the Crown.

"Spirits grant that we might live to fight another day," he prayed.

[Taledonia]

10th of Arcturus
The Cloudburst Mountains

Even as the continent was basking in the sun of late summer, the northernmost major mountain range on Meridia was capped in snow; the powder spirited away in the strong winds to form eddies and wraiths of ethereal composition. The ice stung the skin and eyes, and the frost made each step crunch under foot despite the foot or so of fresh powder that had hidden any path up the sheer peaks from any who did not know them intimately. And as Cathbad led the Dwipantarans up and ever up, even he cursed such a fickle place and led them into dead ends once or twice. It could never be proven, he had told them through chattering teeth, but it was as if the mountain itself moved and shifted, so that the ways through were ever changing. Or perhaps it was simply a trick of the mind; the mountain entering the thoughts of all who stood upon it, asserting its dominance upon the psyche as it did upon the landscape itself.

The pines, thick and old and hoary, defied all logic and continued to perch precariously at every elevation. Not in great clusters or anything that could be called a wood, for the Maiden ended far below, but they stood as if sentinels on every ledge and promontory; stoic guardians of these ancient cliffs, watching all who would make the journey to the holiest site in Taledonia. Through the howls of the icy breeze, the cries of ravens and hawks drifted to their ears. The sky itself, so long obscured by the gales, was becoming visible as dusk set in and painted its warm hues across the cosmos, while the moon, unbelievably illuminated, sat ponderously and watchful above the jagged summits before them.

"We will rest here," Cathbad announced, "For night gathers, and will muddle us even further." He looked upon his party, covered in frost and snow and glaring at him in disbelief and disagreement. These were a tropical people, led up a frigid mountain without mounts, and he had just told them they would be camping on an exposed mountain side, in the snow, with the wind howling and the temperature dropping with the sun. At least, that was the impression they clearly had.

"Come," he bid them, and started off to the left of the path they had been trudging.

He led them to the overhanging ledge of the next ridge, which formed a small shelter from the wind whose sound was magnified as it was forced to break and divert around the rock. Two spruce trees stood on either side, about ten feet apart, their withered and stilted branches straining against the snowload caught within their needles. Cathbad stood directly between the two, and looked from one to the other for a moment as the others looked on.

"Skjól," he whispered to the air, and watched as his breath wafted into the cold mountain air. "Hliðið," did he whisper next, and reaching out his right hand, seized an invisible handle. With a push, the door of sawn pine gave way, revealing the interior of the small timber cabin that stood before them as if it had always been there, but their eyes had simply refused to see it. Cathbad walked in, shook off the snow from his shoulders, and bade them enter. Immediately he went to the hearth, which was carved directly into the mountain rock, and set about lighting a fire.

"Gather round, friends, and warm yourselves. I believe it will be a particularly belligerent night, and we will all be glad of the flame."

[A m e n r i a]

The Dwipantarans were like children taken to a road trip by their parents. Almost every half hour, a question about how much longer or how much further was heard from at least one of them. Either that, or remarks about how "bloody cold" the weather was. Only Captain Yudha and one or two other officers who have been to the distant Dragon Empire kept their composure, or at least seemed to do so. After some time, Cathbad told his companions that they will be camping. The Dwipantarans shared confused looks at each other, before turning to look at him, as if one of them was about to ask him if he was joking. However, the old druid revealed a hidden cabin, to which they reacted with widened eyes as if saying "Oh, that's what you were thinking."

Cathbad entered and welcomed the foreigners in, asking them to get closer to the hearth. They would have instinctively did so without him asking, as they were used to the blazing sun of the tropical continent of Aleria, not the cold temperature of the Cloudburst Mountains. They once again sat with the druid, ready to listen to further instructions, should he give them.

[Taledonia]

As the Dwipantarans waited and warmed themselves, Cathbad took out his pipe. He began to pack it with careful attention, and when it was lit he sat puffing a few plumes of smoke from the corner of his mouth. It was quiet but for the sound of the wind outside, and the crackling of the fire, and looking about at his companions, the druid cleared his throat. The party leaned closer, expecting to hear the next steps in this bizarre journey they had embarked upon, yet silence prevailed. Cathbad merely sucked on his pipe. And after a few more times clearing his throat, bringing the Dwipantarans to the edge of their seats in expectation of some wisdom or instruction, they began to realize that he was, indeed, simply smoking. Excitement came, not in the form of words, but in the unmistakable crash of musketry. Two, three blasts, some muffled shouting, and then the sounds of men running through deep snow. A pounding on the cabin door, and then the splinter of wood as the lock began to splinter the frame, and in they came.

They were ten in number, clad in finely wrought armour of silver inlaid steel and heavy woolen cloaks fastened with silver brooches. Half of them had beaver caps, the other half steel helms that shone with hoarfrost and burned cold against their cheeks. All of them carried muskets, a few with bayonets fixed, and all had arming swords at their hips. The anger, fatigue and fear was evident in their eyes as they adjusted to the light of the fire after the darkness of the snowy twilight, and half stunned and unsure, they made to lift their weapons at those sitting equally unsure around the hearth.

"Lord Aidan," Cathbad puffed a cloud of smoke at the intruders, "I did not expect such noble company within the Cloudburst."

The central figure, clearly the leader of the group, looked from foreign face to foreign face, his mind puzzling what to make of this whole scene, when his eyes settled upon the druid. "Druid, we seek shelter and protection. We are being pursued."

"Then close the door, and allow the Spirits to obscure our humble refuge from the hungry eyes of those that follow."

But it was too late. A musket ball struck the wall, rebounding inside and clacking menacingly and poignantly against the stones of the hearth, just by the knee of Captain Yudha. With curses, the soldiers took cover at the doorway, returning sporadic fire into the snowy night at unseen figures. Cathbad leapt up with impressive speed, and slammed shut the door. The panging of incoming rounds on the external facade spoke of a great number of pursuers. But then, as if the storm had swallowed them up, the incoming fire ceased.

"Lord Aidan of Stormhold," came a clear, deep tenor, echoing off the stone cliffs and defying the arctic winds, "Surrender, in the name of His Majesty the King!"

[Rezua]

Three Weeks Earlier

The Shalarin was on fire. Or rather, her sails were. In the darkest hours of the night, Viratha had been awoken to the sound of cannons. The young cleric had scrambled out of bed, dressing in haste and had thrown on the coral and steel armor of her people. Viratha was not trained for warfare, though the armor was something she'd been accustomed to. If a diplomat was attacked, one had to be ready. Viratha pulled open the inner compartment of her nightstand and drew her long dagger -almost a shortsword- and scurried out of her cabin.

The young princess had rushed up on deck to find men fighting. Aventi sailors were steel-to-steel with ragged men who had just boarded. Pirates. Though how they'd managed to slip past their dolphin sentries was a mystery to Viratha. A mystery that was soon answered as a man came running at her screaming. An aventi man. Viratha did not raise her dagger, instead her left hand shot out, fingers twisting in certain angles. The pirate's sword burst as she chilled the temperature of the steel, forcing it past was a blade would reasonably have to endure. It was only then she stabbed the dagger through the man's guts.

Beside her, her brother Gyenti almost puked. Despite his shiny armor and the sword father had given him, the second in line for the throne looked miserable. "I'm not a soldier." he grumbled as he waded his way to Viratha. Gyenti was layered in blood, though it seemed it was not his own, as he was not in pain or dying. He just looked sick. "Shandas and I were talking when it happened." he said without being asked. He added something almost unneeded to be stated "She saved my life." Viratha could have figured that out from the blood.

As if summoned, Shandas appeared, whirling through the battle. The Commander of the Dive Core took off a pirate's head as she stormed over to Viratha. The warrior princess glanced at her sister for a second "Pirates killed our scouts with their own then attacked from behind. The divers just jumped to go rip their hull apart from below. In the meantime, Vi, get that damn fire out." Then she was gone, whipping back into the fray.

Viratha tugged on Gyenti's arm "Follow me to the sails, brother. I shall need an escort." Even in his weak state, Gyenti chuckled. They both knew that is was Viratha who was doing the escorting. The two siblings moved towards the main mast carefully but quickly. The sails could be replaced, new ones could be taken up from storage. Or perhaps the crew could use some magic to patch holes if the fire proved weak. But if the mast lit up, the ship was doomed. Viratha reached the mast and looked up, relieved to see only the sails alight. "Watch my back." she told her brother. Viratha raised her hands and began to chant, calling upon the sky to pour rain onto the ship. She closed her eyes and focused, ignoring the screams of her crew and the pirates. Suddenly, she heard a man get too close. Her eyes whipped open, her spell cast. Viratha spun, dagger posed to strike just in time to see Gyenti - of all people - ram his blade into a pirate's gut. The pirate didn't die though, so Gyenti had to hack at him. And hack at him. Viratha looked to the left, just in time to see the pirate's ship sink below the waves. The divers had ripped the bottom out, or had used that nifty bomb that worked underwater. Clay held gunpowder in place, and when an aventi used some of their innate magic to heat it up, well. Boom.

Viratha turned to see her brother still hacking the corpse madly. She put her hand on his chest to steady him. "Ease up, brother." she said softly. The madness in his eyes died soon after, replaced by disgust. "I...he tried to kill you." he stammered. Viratha nodded "I know." Despite that, Gyenti ran off to go puke, the battle now over.

Near the Waters of Taledon

"And what do you suppose that is, captain?" inquired Shandas. The commander of the diplomat's bodyguards had been the first to spot the hulls of the ships cutting through the waves from below the waves on her dolphin. She'd surfaced to speak with the captain, a man who dressed in a fine blue vest but never bothered to keep his beard neatly trimmed. The older aventi beside the eldest princess of Aventan grimaced. On the horizon, three sloops flew the flag of Taledon. And that was exactly the problem. The aventi had been sailing for so long, making their way to Taledon, that it would be impossible to tell if these ships would be even willing to speak to them. After all, the sides of the war had never been clarified to them.

Captain Vergon turned to look at Shandas "That's what we sailing men call a 'Oi, who da fack are you whoresons?' Pardon my elven." The old captain coughed into his hand and pointed "Thems the guys who are sent to either get us to leave or get us to their waters unmolested by pirates. Like we needed that." Shandas did not counter his final comment, pirates were never to be underestimated.

Shandas bit her lip in thought "Fly the striped red flags. Hopefully these sailors are legitimate naval ships and can understate we're only here to speak to their commanding officers and governing body." As an after thought she added, "Have the dolphin scouts be on alert and ready to fight."

[Taledonia]

"It is not a Taledonian signal, if you please, sir," reported the flag ensign to the lieutenant of the watch, who in turn reported it to the captain of the Adventure, a ship-rigged sloop of 18 guns that led the small line of ships that encompassed the Arquebus, 18, and the Maiden, 14.

"Not too sure on the colours, sir," continued the ensign, "But their rigging is all ahoo, as if they'd had a fire."

"Unknown colours, if you please, sir," parroted the lieutenant, "And their rigging in a poor state."

Captain Erikson Ælfulraed, a young man nearing his thirties, stood on the ship's rail completely at ease against the sway of the sea, one hand gripping the netting and the other shading his eyes against the sun as he peered at the vessel now hull-up on the horizon. Barrel chested, with streaming auburn hair that was tied in a neat cue, he cut an impressive naval figure; seemingly immune to the salty spray that had already soaked the white cotton of his shirt and deepened the brown of his breeches to almost a black. "A most peculiar vessel. What do you make of her, Bottrel?" he asked his lieutenant.

With a wink, the officer agreed. "Peculiar, as you say sir, but elegant. I've had glimpses of similar craft on other commissions. Pirates, for the most part, and only the Spirits know where they came upon such craft, but I'd reckon that it's one of them."

"My thoughts exactly, Bottrel. It seems to stricken by half; look at the way the yards are hanging about. I cannot believe them to truly be in such a state of distress, when their mast seems to be relatively well founded. A poorly veiled ruse, I dare say. The pity of it all is that they have the weather gauge, while we must contend with the inward breeze entering the bay. So let us play along. Send up some noncommittal flags in reply, and signal the Arquebus and Maiden to quietly beat to quarters. We shall do the same. No drums or fifes. Gun crews to their stations to prepare, but do not open any hatches. Pistols and boarding pikes to be distributed, discretely if you please, and marines into the top. We shall continue under half-sail, and steer to cross her bows."

[A m e n r i a]

The Dwipantarans were disappointed when all Cathbad did was smoke. No magic, no stories, just an old man inhaling his pipe. The boredom quickly passed, though, since not long after that, shots were fired and more people arrived. Every Dwipantaran grabbed their weapon just after their captain ordered them to, a second or two after the first shot was fired just a few centimetres from his leg.

When more Breacan men entered the cabin, the Dwipantarans were wary and ready to ask Cathbad whether these men were friendly or even real. However, the shot and voice following them ensured that these were, indeed, not the king's loyalists. "Any suggestions, druid?" Asked Captain Yudha, standing alongside his forces with weapons in hand.

[Taledonia]

Cathbad saw the resolve of the rebels; their faces set in defiance, ready to give their lives in defense of their lord. He saw, too, that the Dwipantarans were prepared to do as their captain commanded, and were gripping their own weapons with equal determination. Once more came the shout, a call for surrender, and a threat should surrender not be given. To this, Lord Aidan shouted back a reply that was unbecoming of a noble. War did so reduce even the best of men.

"Druid!" Aidan called, "Work your magics! Swallow them in snow, or call upon a bear to tear them apart!"

With another long draw of his pipe, Cathbad furrowed his brow and exhaled a fat puff towards the lord. "I am honoured," he spoke sarcastically, "That you believe my Order to have such powers. What a life it would be: conjuring storms from my fingers and feral beasts from my arse. Unfortunately, it is not so. I have no powers, I merely speak to the spirits."

"Then demand their assistance!" interjected Aidan.

"Making demands of the spirits on their own mountain would not be very wise, my lord. Nor would it be particularly good manners. Would you countenance a visitor making demands of you in Stormhold?"

Lord Stormhold rose and moved to tower above the old man, barely contained fury written about his face and body language. "Look here you decrepit magician," he snarled, "at any moment this cabin of yours will be charged by soldiers, unless they choose to blow us to smithereens with the canons they've lugged up here with them. If you don't conjure up an exit for us, we shall all die. You there, foreigner," he gestured to Yudha, "Have your men formed up. Against the wall, there, and be ready. Blast those fuckers to bits if they set one foot inside this room!"

[A m e n r i a]

Captain Yudha's expression was that of annoyance when he heard Lord Stormlord's orders. "We don't follow orders from arrogant white-skinned people since our independence. However, we'll fight the same injustice as you, so don't stand in our way."

The Dwipantaran soldiers lined up before the door, rifles and guns pointed in the same direction and ready to fire a barrage of bullets at whoever foolish enough to enter the cabin. "In the name of God and Angel, most powerful and most benevolent..." was heard murmured among the group.

[Taledonia]

With barely disguised triumph, Cathbad returned to his pipe. "You see, Lord Stormhold, demands will not get you far in the Cloudbursts." He took a few more puffs, then decided that the plant had expired, and so he began to tap the device against the hearth to clear it. It would be a rare brigand, he opined, that could afford cannons. Even bolder that he would attack a lord of the realm, under escort, even in so remote an area. No, he reasoned, it had to be Royalists outside threatening them now. Particularly as they invoked the name of the king in their calls for surrender.

"And so I cannot recommend that you take any action here, Captain Yudha. To do so would be to declare allegiance to one side in this conflict; even if done in self-defense. It simply wouldn't do. I must ask you to swallow your pride, and lay down your arms. Let us retreat to the corner here, by the fire, and move away from the door. If there is to be a fight, let us not take part in it."

Lord Aidan moved again to tower above the druid. The anger had grown, as much was evident by his tone, but there was something markedly different in his voice. Something that hadn't been there before, and that was barely perceptible. "The fight is already raging, and you have all willingly walked into it!" Cathbad was taken back, and looked puzzled. He did not reply immediately, but instead continued to stare at the noble warrior above him, searching for some sort of answer to the feeling of malaise that he felt. It became clear that the Dwipantarans were now beginning to realize that something was off as well, as they looked around the room in confusion, as if nothing made sense but nothing was wrong. "The King has failed," continued Lord Aidan, "And the Old Ways are being lost. This cannot be allowed to occur. It will not occur! And through our sacrifice, we will ensure that it does not!"

It was imperceptible, but it happened, and it was as if it had always been. Lord Aidan was gone, and in his place was the form of a skeletal deer, whose flesh hung in torn chunks, decaying, and whose eyes were dark pits that seemed to swallow all light that dared approach. A wendigo. And the soldiers, no longer hardened men ready to protect their master, were replaced with snarling beastmen that appeared to be composites of various animals and men.

"The Amber shall be eternal!" boomed the voice that once was Lord Aidan's, but now seemed to emanate from the air itself. "The realms will be bridged!" The demons began to hiss; a hiss that grew in intensity and pitch. It filled the room, and the minds of those assembled, all while the black pits of the beasts' eyes glared at the druid and the Dwipantarans.

And then the hiss was simply the mountain gale passing along the sides of the cabin; the only sounds within the crackle of the fireplace logs. Cathbad and the Dwipantarans were alone once more. Confusion reigned as the party tried to reconcile their minds to what had just transpired, and when they turned to question their guide, they saw his eyes staring blindly ahead, while his arms hung loose at his side and his head sagged upon his chest. Cathbad was dead.

[Taledonia]

It had been a near run thing, but it had worked. Catching the light of the afternoon sun trickling through the heavy canopy of poplars, larch and mighty pine, the wall of glinting bayonets had seemed an impenetrable barrier; Death made manifest in the glimmering steel, his countenance coming forth in the clouds of smoke as the barrels above bequeathed their musket balls upon the charging ranks of the rebel army. Many fell, despite the heroic pageantry and sturdiness of their armor; relics of a dying age, a time before powder, when when war was more personal. The screams of men and horses had mixed together, and increased at every disciplined volley lobbed by the Royalist infantry. But it wasn't enough to stop the desperate attempt at escape, and the steel-clad heavy cavalry of knights and nobles crashed into the musketmen, their blades slashing down in fury as they passed through the ranks like a knife through cheese. They were clear, the only further obstacles being the thick forest floor that required expert horsemanship and control. Many more fell, shot from behind or unseated as their mounts collapsed over fallen trees or into hidden escarpments. But they were clear.

It was many weeks later that Lord Aidan had any notion of how many could say the same. Men, ragged and destitute, weak with hunger and dying of infected wounds, had slowly begun to appear over the course of time. The camp, hidden in the deepest parts of the Maidenwood, had grown. But it was still a paltry few. Perhaps a hundred men had escaped the Royalist ambush during the cavalry charge. A few hundred more had managed to slip away into the forest, blending with the landscape and running for their lives in whichever direction was not swarming with Royalist soldiers. The Knightly Orders had suffered most. Those that had not survived the charge, or were unable to join it, had little recourse but to fight or surrender. Many Grandmasters had fallen, along with the majority of their members. The best estimate that his officers had been able to give was that they had about 350 men-at-arms, 200 wounded, and roughly 80 heavy cavalry. Hardly what you'd call an army.

His mood was understandable, but still he loathed it. A nobleman should be above such things, and yet he could not help but sink into miserable reflection at any moment he was not in discussion with his people. Action was what his mind craved; action to prove that their cause was still viable. But what could he do with so little? His own home had been seized, his army routed or captured. Even Lord Vitalis was taken prisoner, to join poor Galloway in the capital dungeons. He was alone against the Crown. It came mostly at night, when he sat before his small fire in a state of insomnia, that the thought of ending it came unbidden to his mind. He would stare at the flames, licking desperately at the coals as they tried to stay alight, and he would realize that he was gripping the pommel of his dagger somewhat too intently. Would it be honourable, he would ask himself, to plunge this into mine own breast? I am a traitor to my King, and have led my people to ruin.

It was in one such mood that a courtier found him. The sky was black and starless, the new moon dark in the Heavens, and the tall spires of the conifers were oppressive. The low, red haze of his evening fire's remaining embers shed the only light within his tent, and he sat slumped in his chair, his dagger unsheathed in his hand. "M'Lord?" came the low voice, muffled by the canvas of the tent. It intruded his thoughts, and brought him back to reality. With disgust, Aidan threw his dagger to the floor.

"Enter," he beckoned.

The boy was young, too young. Perhaps 16, and still gripped by the awkwardness of puberty. The lantern he held aloft, with a single guttering candle within the glass enclosure, highlighted the wispy and ragged hair of his face, and shone off the grease on his nose and forehead. "Beg pardon, M'Lord, which Captain Cheshire says there's an emissary arrived."

"An emissary?" parroted Lord Stormhold. Who would send an emissary, and more importantly, who would know where to send it?

"Yes, m'Lord," answered the youth. "Which Captain Cheshire has him in his tent, awaiting your pleasure."

Yet the pleasure was the envoys, he was assured, as the introduction was made in the small tent of Wulfrum Cheshire, captain of Stormhold's household guard. The captain's campfire had been rekindled, and several candles lit, so that the space was bright. The emissary had risen as soon as the tent flap had opened, and gave a deep, respectful bow. Sir Henry Filmore, if it pleased His Lordship, was a tall, lanky man in his early forties. He had long auburn hair tied in a cue by green ribbon, a clean shaven face, and icy grey eyes that matched the travel cloak that hung about his shoulders.

"How did you find us?" demanded Lord Aidan, ignoring the introduction and all civility.

The emissary merely gave a sympathetic smile. "I cannot guess at the Lord Protector's methods, but we have always known of your location, my Lord."

"Then why is it you that greets me rather than the bayonets and cannons that spoke so eloquently in the Brackenwood?" the contempt and anger were evident in Aidan's tone, and did him discredit as a member of the upper nobility. "Why has the Lord Protector, as he has taken to calling himself, simply not strike the final blow? Speak, man."

Sir Filmore spread his hands in a gesture of reconciliation. "It is by Royal Decree that he is called Lord Protector, my Lord Aidan. And it is because of Royal precedent that it is I and not the army that speaks to you now. The King is dead. Passed on due to his advanced illness. The Amber Throne sits empty, and the nation is in interregnum. The Lord Protector has declared a general amnesty, and has called for a council to be held at the Cloudburst."

Lord Aidan stood dumbfounded. "The King is dead?"

"Not three days ago, my Lord; Spirits give him rest. The Royal Household is already underway towards the Amber Throne, to prepare His Majesty for the Final Journey. It is there, before the Spirits of the world, and souls of Taledonia's kings, that the council is to be held, and the future of the realm decided." Sir Filmore extended a scroll, bearing the unbroken Royal seal in fine thick purple wax, towards Lord Aidan. "Under the terms of the amnesty, all prisoners will be released without charge. You are requested to disband your armies, such as they are, and make your way to the Throne."

[Rezua]

The Waters Near Taledonia

Captain Vergon frowned as he read the response from the other ship. He knew that, while not hostile, those flags were not the correct answer to a request to speak. "Princess Shandas", he said with a nod towards the other vessels, "We haven't given us a straight answer." Truth be told, Shandas could read the signals on her own but thanked the captain anyway.

The armored princess studied the movement of the ships, taking note of the fact that they were going at half-sail but still coming closer and closer to her ship without declaring whether they would speak or not. Therefore, she had to treat them as a threat. Shandas ordered that the call to battle begin by word of mouth. Cannons were not to be revealed, of course. Shandas made her way over to her sister, Viratha, and pointed to the other ships.

"They're closing in on us and haven't told us if they mean to talk. I'm going to surround them with my marines. I want you to do that magic thing that makes your voice carry far to try and get an answer out of them. If they don't answer, I want you to tell Captain Vergon to open fire. I don't feel like getting boxed in by three ships."

Viratha smiled teasingly "'Do that magic thing'. An elegant way to put it."

"It's the scientific way."

"Right, well, I'll do my 'magic thing' and you go do your 'get ready to fight thingie'."

Without another word, Shandas dove over the side of the ship and took a cool breath under the waves. Now underwater, Shandas could see the comforting patterns of the ocean, the black shadow of wave caps, the twisting of sunrays, the gleam of fish far below. Shandas felt most at home here, in this world of shifting colors. She stared deeply into the vast abyss, far past coral and reef. She felt a pull to it, a calling. A feeling of warmth.

Pulling her eyes away from the void, Shandas climbed onto her dolphin mount and directed it to her second in command. Hoyd was a handsome fellow, light orange eyes with striking white hair. His jawline was strong, seemingly cut from the sturdiest of stone. The scars that adorned his left cheek only enhanced his attractiveness somehow. He- right, Shandas had to focus.

"Lieutenant, have our marines divide into three teams, one for each ship overhead. Break out the Waveshaker explosives and have our most talented magic-users start to preheat them. Get ready to charge in and plant them, then to dart away. Those vessels have not answered our call to speak. If our ship or theirs opens fire, we blow their ships open. Rip their hulls apart from there, climb inside their ships and cut them apart if you deem it necessary."

Perhaps Shandas should not have told Hoyd that he could go into the other vessels if they proved hostile. For one, worming your way into a hole was a great way to get caught in a choke-point. You'd have to jump through it rather quickly to avoid being caught in it. And then there was the fact that, to Lieutenant Hoyd, getting up close with the enemy was often "necessary". He'd gotten those scars from somewhere.

Meanwhile, on deck, Viratha made her way to the front of her vessel and locked her eyes on the main ship. With her magic, she could distort her voice to become one of rolling thunder. With a flick of her wrist, she could destroy one of the ships with a bolt of lightening. Yet, she did not want to provoke fear in them, nor to reap such destruction. Nor did she want to feel the sickening emptiness that came from casting such powerful spells. Instead, Viratha chose to heighten the volume of her normal voice so the other ships could hear it. She took a deep breath and felt the air she sucked in spark with energy as magic caught in her throat. It wormed around, seeking to be released. It was not an uncomfortable feeling, merely one that made one restless.

"Taledonian vessels! I am Princess Viratha, Fourth in Line for the Throne of Aventan. My two older siblings and I are acting as ambassadors from Aventan. Our intent is to speak with your leaders to learn the truth of this war. If you would be so kind as to allow us passage, we would be most appreciative."

Viratha decided to leave out that she wanted to speak to both sides.

[Taledonia]

It was as if some unknown thunder god had suddenly spoken, the words booming out and amplifying off the sea, filling the air completely with no discernible source or direction, just an all encompassing declaration. "Taledonian vessels! I am Princess Viratha, Fourth in Line for the Throne of Aventan. My two older siblings and I are acting as ambassadors from Aventan. Our intent is to speak with your leaders to learn the truth of this war. If you would be so kind as to allow us passage, we would be most appreciative."

The rated seamen, superstitious by nature, began to make all sorts of warding symbols and idioms; knocking on wood, turning seven times on spot, or reciting various incantations to the spirits of the world. The officers, a more learned group, were none-the-less taken aback. Such a voice commanded attention, and despite knowing that the Druids could perform similar tricks, it was always off-putting when normal people experienced magic. Lieutenant Bottrel joined his captain at the taffrail. "Very convincing brigands, Sir" he commented drily.

"A damned sorry assumption that is," Erikson commented, all levity and joy vacant from his countenance. "I'd have preferred pirates; straightforward contact, and the opportunity for some prize money. Now we shall have to play the diplomat. Send along for my steward. He's to lay out my number one uniform and ceremonial sabre. Best dress to impress, Bottrel, and see what can be done about the crew. Hand out fresh slops if you must, but let us not disgrace ourselves in the face of foreign royalty."

"Very good, Sir. Shall I signal the Arquebus and Maiden to follow suit?" queried the lieutenant.

Erikson shook his head. "No no. While they are captained and crewed by good men, I would not like to expose more of our people than necessary. For one thing, we cannot be sure of these...Aventan, did they say? We cannot be sure of their motivations, and so I'd like to keep them guessing as to our numbers. For another, we've been a few weeks from port, and dare say it's going to be a challenge getting our own crew into a fit state to receive a princess. Signal our escorts to lower sail and hold position till ordered. Working against the breeze, we should be able to make ourselves pretty before they close with us. And Bottrel?"

"Sir?"

"Make ready a royal salute. Let us do this civil, particularly after the shabby response we initially gave. Full twenty-one."

"Aye, Captain."

---

It had taken a few hours yet, but as the sun started shading the sky orange in its descent towards the horizon, the Adventure and Shalarin were a mere 50 meters from each other. The men, quickly brushed and dressed in decently clean clothes, stood in their gun crews or in the yards, silent in expectation, while the officers were clustered in an orderly line in their best blue dress uniforms, bicorns worn athwartship, along the prow. The central figure could be seen to lift his right arm, and almost immediately the front starboard 24-pounder fired off a charge without shot. Exactly ten seconds after, the second cannon fired, and so down the line in exactly timed intervals; the crews loading as quickly as they could to be ready for the next blast, for each of the seven guns of the starboard broadside would fire thrice. And as the last cannon fell silent, its blast echoing off the waves, the officers could be seen to sweep their hats from their heads in a graceful motion, holding them at their hearts, and giving a slight bow in the direction of the Shalarin.

"And if they don't return the salute?" asked Bottrel quietly.

Captain Ælfulraed did not turn, but gave a slight grimace of distaste. "Then we will bear the insult. At least until we've determined why they have come. Captain Paulson," he turned to the marine captain, clad in the scarlet of his order, "If you'd be so kind."

The soldier gave a nod, and then raised a speaking trumpet to his lips. "Ship ahoy! On behalf of His Majesty's Sloop Adventure, it is requested that you lower sail and prepare to receive us." And as the words were said, a gig was already being lowered over the side, ready to ferry the ships officers and a small, ceremonial guard of marines over to the Aventan ship.

[A m e n r i a]

The tan-skinned men and their Peranakan countrymen lowered their rifles, thinking they were in for a political debate. This talk, however, was neither about laws or factions anymore. It was more of a threat.

When "Lord Aidan" was revealed to be a spirit looking like an undead stag and his allies were little more than the flesh of various creatures pounded together, the Dwipantarans pointed their guns at them, crying out "God is power" before firing at the monsters, only to have them disappear like an illusion.

Captain Yudha turned to his soldiers. "Situation report! Is anyone injured?" "None, sir." A bald footmen replied. Kevin the troll crawled closer to the nearest window to peer outside, checking for hostiles. "Cathbad, what is going on here!? Cathbad? Cathbad!" The captain was shocked to see his guide now lying on the floor. He and the young Peranakan who came to the magical stream before rushed towards the druid. The Peranakan, Daniel, checked Cathbad's vital signs. He then gazed at his captain with a sorrowful expression. "We lost him." The young man uttered.

Captain Yudha put his hand on his head. He and his underlings were now trapped in a foreign land all alone, without anyone to tell them what's safe and what's not, what's real and what's illusion. He recalled the demon's parting words.."The realms will be bridged..Do they plan to unite the spirit world with ours..? What do you think, Guru?" He turned to a bearded Muladi wearing a talisman resembling a pair of monochrome wings, a typical appearance of a priest within the Dwipantaran military.

[Taledonia]

11th of Arcturus
Upon the Cloudburst Mountains

It was cold in the cabin, despite the crackling of the fire; admittedly diminished within the confines of the hearth, but still licking its lips of red, yellow and orange across the charred logs that threatened to collapse any moment now. Even the wind had lessened, and now sang lightly against the timbers of the cabin. There was a calm, and it heightened the tension in the room as the Dwipantarans stood about in shock and confusion. Outside, the first rays of the morning sun were beginning to creep over the horizon and touch the frosty peaks of the Cloudburst. The snowflakes glittered as they were whisked along by the mountain breeze, and as the light grew and was further refracted by the crystals of ice, there formed the faintest hint of a rainbow in the mist.

"Well, ere ye be, and plenty warm by the log, to boot!"

The voice was merry, with a sing-song lilt, and a heavy brogue about the vowels, and as the faces of the foreigners turned to the corner of the room nearest the fire, they beheld yet another newcomer to their party. He was diminutive in stature; perhaps 3 or 4 feet tall, but seated as he was on a stool, one could not tell for sure. His clothing was fine: a set of brown trousers of wool held fast by suspenders the colour of moss and lichen, a double-breasted vest of linen as white as snow set over a white shirt tied smartly with a forest green ribbon fashioned into a magnificent bow. His leather shoes shone black and perfect, with laces of silver and stitching of gold. He wore a fine thick beard that ran curling from one ear to the other under the chin, and was of such a shocking orange that carrots would be jealous. His hair, an equally outrageous orange, shone like flowing gold and was tied in an elegant cue, beset by a bowler of the same mossy colour as the suspenders.

"The soul is right warmed by a flame the colour of these, I dare say meself!" the little man commented, to no one in particular. "Aye, a foyne day t'will be, I'm sure, when the morn' be spent before a fire."

[Rezua]

Aboard the Shalarin

Viratha took the time to put on her finest gown. Well, the finest gown she wore above the waves. It was made of two different colors of blue silk. The long skirt that touched the ground was a dark blue, the short skirt that went over that, to the knees, was light blue. Viratha put on her silver crown, studded with pearls and shells. To match this sea look, Viratha put on green lip stick, highlighted her eyes and eyelashes with green, and wore green shell earnings. Viratha's blue skin and green make-up combo made her appear since more like the sea.

The young princess stepped out onto the deck and found her siblings adored in ceremonial armor. Embedded in it were pearls and shells in a detailed pattern, the crest of their family created by the pattern. A pillar with a blade laid within it. Law and the ability to enforce it. Virtha smiled at Gyenti, knowning her brother was as uncomfortable in armor as a woman in a corset. Among them were their marines, wearing their stylized armor, holding finely made rifles. They were ready to meet the foreigners. And then the foreigners shot at them.

When the other vessel issued its salute, Shandas spun on her heels, shouting "Everyone down!" Viratha was forced to the deck by her sister, who covered Viratha with her armored body. A second shot rang out loudly, forcing Virtha to cover her ears from the noise. Shandas shouted "Get the cannons ready to fire!" Battle-training took the ship, all for one person. Gyenti.

The prince ran for his sisters, flailing his arms. "Don't shoot! Don't shoot them!" he screamed. He grabbed hold of Shandas and pulled her to look at the other ship. "Look, those cannons have no shot! It's just a thing these people do. Quick, call off our marines before they drill holes in those ships and a battle starts. Shandas cursed and jumped overboard, going to call off any dolphin riders who had thought their royals were being fired at.

The Aventani waited before firing an answer to the salute, once all their troops new that they weren't fighting. What a stupid way to say hello thought Viratha, watching the foreigners bring, what she assumed, was the highest ranking officer towards their ship. The sails were lowered, the marines lined back up. With Shandas on her right, and Gyenti on her left, Viratha made her wait to the side of the ship to welcome the officers onboard.

She extended her hand to the first man who climbed up onto the deck. She was sure that seeing a young blue-skinned woman with greenish blonde hair was one of the strangest things this man had seen. "I am princess Viratha, the two beside me are my older siblings Shandas and Gyenti. As I said before, we came to hear a recount of this spirit business happening in your nation.


Shalarin

[Taledonia]

It was a funny start to things, no one could doubt. What was believed to be corsairs was in truth foreign royalty, and when the civil thing was done and a royal salute given, the men whispered amongst themselves about the queer way the strangers had reacted. They jumped to the deck, and ran about as if the Shadow were descending upon them. Those younger lads who still had their hearing swore that they heard the shouting of orders, and indeed it was seen that the royals were preparing for battle. Make good your souls with the Spirits, the more superstitious and ornery seaman muttered, for we shall soon be giving out more than smoke and receiving a fair amount of metal in return. The men became tense, and tightened their fists in anticipation. The officers, having a good sense of the mood, called for silence fore and aft, and the Adventure grew silent but for the singing of the wind in the rigging and the creaking of the timbers.

The officers, for their part, were just as tense. What now, they considered. Were they duped, and this really was a brigand who would now engage, for certainly their crew were rushing to what could be taken for battle stations upon the elegant craft. More importantly, would the honour of Taledonia be tarnished by them not returning a salute? And then, to the relief of every man from captain to rated seaman the vessel in question fired off a hesitant salute of its own; almost as if they did not understand the custom, and were merely mimicking the Adventure.

The marine captain called out, and to the great satisfaction of the crew, the royal vessel reduced sail and prepared to receive them. Down the side in a manner becoming of true seamen, Captain Ælfulraed, Lieutenant Bottrel, and Captain Paulson entered the gig, were rowed over in style by the captain's coxswain (dressed in a fine red and white striped shirt, white duck trousers, white sennit hats with flowing blue ribbons; the rowers, five on each flank, dressed to match), and came up the side of the Shalarin in equal ease as men accustomed to life at sea often do. And then they stumbled.

The people, if that term could be applied, looked more like sea creatures. Many had blue skin, and that was the least of the peculiar features of these strange folk. And the Princess, as she introduced herself, was as like a siren as anything conjourned up by artists and sculptors. The strange hue of her complexion, mixed with the green that she had painted herself in, all spoke of the deep; her garments, obviously of very fine quality and taste where she came from, shimmered in the dusk sunlight that flooded the waves and turned them wine dark. Her siblings, as they were introduced, wore intricate armour, and it was impossible for the men not to envision the myths of ancient kingdoms beneath the waves.

Captain Ælfulraed took the proffered hand, held it to his face as if meaning to kiss it, yet stopped just short of the lips and instead gave a slight bow of the head. Then, sweaping his hat from his head, he made an elegant bow; right leg extended forward, left hand extended to the side with the bicorn, and right hand resting calmly upon the golden hilt of his ceremonial sabre. "Captain Erikson Ælfulraed of His Majesty's Royal Navy, at your service, Your Royal Highnesses." Standing straight once more, and tucking his bicorn under his arm, he introduced his officers.

"May I present my lieutenant, Heinrich Bottrel, and Captain Dominic Paulson of the Royal Marines." Each man removed his hat and gave a bow, much less grand than that of their commanding officer. Introductions done, Ælfulraed looked each of the royals in the eye for a moment, lingering on those of the Princess Viratha, whose strange appearance was not unbecoming.

"You have me at a disadvantage," he told them. "I do not know of what war you've come to speak to, nor do I understand what you wish of the Spirits. Shall I fetch you a druid? They speak in riddles, and live as hermits in the wood, but they understand the Spirits better than any. Much like the priests of foreign faiths."

[Rezua]

Aboard the Shalarin

Viratha took note of the way Captain Ælfulraed's eyes lingered over her, studying her exotic features. She felt a slight shiver in her mind from that gaze, though she kept her rattled feeling from showing. It made her uncomfortable when she was looked at with desire. The princess smiled politely "A moment, sir, let me ask my sibling something." Viratha turned to Gyenti and said in their native tongue "I thought these people were in civil war."

Gyenti shifted nervously,"They were going to. I don't know why they don't know anything about it."

Viratha took a moment to think about the information confronting her. On one hand, her brother had told her that war in this land was imminent. That the Shadows were returning. And then there was the fact that he did stretch the truth a little bit. But would he really make a story out of something this dangerous? If this were told it could be quite dangerous. The appearance of the Shadow was slow before it hit suddenly. Perhaps these men were trying to cover up the rise of the Shadow.

The light blue skinned princess turned back to the captain, "I was under the impression that war had broken out between your people. If it would not be a burden, I would like to speak to your druid."

[A m e n r i a]

When the Dwipantarans gathered in confusion, wondering what to do next, they were suddenly surprised by the presence of yet another strange being - a little man with hair colour unlike anything from their tropical home continent.

Though the skies outside shone with the light of a new day, and seemingly new hope, the tension in the cabin did not go away.

The soldiers half-jumped and pointed their weapons at the diminutive person. The priest held his talisman at the person's direction. The white-robed clergyman slowly approached the seated dwarf and began to talk to him as calmly as he could. "What are you, stranger? Please state your business with us."

[Taledonia]

11th of Arcturus
Upon the Cloudburst Mountains

The little man repeated himself, telling no one in particular that it was a fine day, sure, and that a fire was sweet as gold on such occasions. Leaping from his stool to the floor, he turned and rubbed his rump with his hands, smiling in delight at the sensation. One couldn't help but laugh at such a look, set as it was amongst so much orange hair. And then, seemingly noticing the Dwipantarans for the first time, the little man blushed, and ceased rubbing his butt.

"Oh, 'ere pardon begged, me good fellows!" he said in his distinctive melody, "But it's ever chilled in these peaks, and a soul loses his manners till comfort is gained."

With movements so quick that he could not be stopped, the dwarf grabbed hold of the white-robbed priest's right hand, and shook it heartily between both of his; hands outrageously large for someone so small, and covered in an almost indecent amount of carroty hair. "Fergus mac Léti, an' a mos' foyne honour t'is!" Releasing the hand of the clergyman, he moved next to the group's leader, once again seizing the right hand before anyone could move to resist. " Fergus mac Léti, dear soul! An' ye Yudha, though don' make a soul say it twice, for ye foreign types have names indecent upon the tongue 'ere, an' I'll be whippets 'ere seeming the larbo!"

On he went, giving a nod to the others yet moving once more to take the hand of the startled men; this time the one belonging to the youth of the group. " Fergus mac Léti, me boy, Fergus mac Léti!" He looked into the boys face, bobbing his head back and forth as he looked into both eyes, peered at the hair, the ears, and the chin. "Aye, aye. Can see why t'was you." Moving now to the center of the room, the little man made a small jump, clacked his heels together, and spun in place. "Right then, to the thing of it."

With a snap of his fingers, a coin of pure gold appeared between them. "T'is in the interest te listen, laddies, t'is in the interest. An' I don' give me gold out to all, y'see."

45th of Medraut
Beaver Bay, Near the Coast of Druid's Rest
Aboard the Shalarin

"Mr. Bottrel, I believe the Maiden has a druid aboard, does it not?" asked Captain Erikson.

"Ordinarily, Sir," came the unfortunate reply, "But the man was taken ill, and left at the colony for rest."

"We are without a druid, is it?"

"Afraid so, Sir."

Erikson thought for a moment, then turned back to his lieutenant. "How long has it been since you was home, Mr. Bottrel?" Without hesitation or need to reflect, Bottrel replied that he had been away for three years, two months, and thirty-six days. "I'm sure your wife would enjoy a visit."

Turning back to the royals, he laid out his thoughts. "If it please Your Highnesses, might I offer the services of my Lieutenant, that he might accompany you to Taledonia proper. There, he may make the proper introductions, and ensure that you are escorted to the local magistrate. I cannot speak for the politicos, I'm afraid, but I believe it is the best way for you to speak not only to a druid, but gain an audience with a representative of the His Majesty the King. I'm afraid my duty keeps me in these waters, and our colony is but a poor garrison, unworthy of receiving you properly. No, I believe it best to see you safely to Vermillion. And Mr. Bottrel is the best man to see it done."